


Twisted Tale

by kat_snow2613



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arya is queer, Discussion of homophobia and immigration, F/F, F/M, Homophobia, Politics, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-09-01 05:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8610874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_snow2613/pseuds/kat_snow2613
Summary: Hi friends!  I had so much fun writing Pout Off I decided to go back and expand the story.  This will eventually meet up with the events of Pout Off, although at that point I might re-write sections of it to take into consideration other changes I've made.  Note:  I cut Bran and Rickon from the story.  My three Starks are Robb, Sansa, and Arya.  Premise: Lyanna Snow was married to Brandon Stark, the oldest brother of a prominent political family.  When Brandon died in a tragic car accident, Lyanna moved away to put distance between herself and her grief.  A few years after Brandon's death, Lyanna got pregnant and returned home with her infant son, Jon Snow.Eddard Stark felt a responsibility to look after his brother's widow and her child, and Jon grew up with the Stark children.  Sansa now works in an art gallery in Manhattan where Jon also works in finance.  They finally confess their feelings for each other at Robb's wedding, but their joy is short lived as they begin to uncover the truth behind what really happened.





	1. Chapter 1

Sansa  gazed the painting before her, with its harsh lines and twisting faces.  The painting was chaotic.  It was distorted.  It was disturbing.  It was one of her favorites.  She’d be sad to see it leave the gallery.

“I think you’ll both be really happy with this piece,” she said to the gorgeous couple in front of her. 

And they were gorgeous, just a compilation of cheekbones and legs and trendy glasses.  They’re the perfect combination of waspy good looks and Brooklyn hip.  Exactly the couple that would buy this piece.  She did some mental math and calculated what her commission would be.  Just enough to qualify for her bonus.

“Do you think will it appreciate well?” the husband asked.

“Absolutely.  The Latin American market is really strong,” she said, not missing a beat.

It doesn’t take long after that before she’s having them fill out the paperwork.  She’d mentally narrowed it down: their address was either Park Slope or the Upper East Side.  She glanced at the form and recognized the zip code.  Nailed it. 

She presented them the paperwork for the delivery in the glossy envelope with the gallery’s symbol embossed on it.  She handed them her card as well.

“If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to call me directly,” she smiled warmly.

The wife glanced down at the card.  Recognition danced across her face.  “Oh,” she said, “I didn’t realize you were a Stark.”

Sansa nodded.  She already knew they were Democrats, but political inclined enough to know her father’s reputation.

“We’re so sorry for your loss,” she said solemnly. 

“That’s so kind of you to say. Thank you,” Sansa recited.

“He was one of the last few Republicans to have any sense,” the husband said.

“Even those who didn’t always agree with him knew that he served his country.  We were lucky to have him,” she said the words she’s said a hundred times before, perfectly chosen for their balance of humility and respect.  The beautiful young couple gave their best ‘sympathy nod,’ as she liked to call it.

They remembered her father.  They remembered his steady, serious voice that carried across campaign speeches.  They remembered the famous sound bite on the nightly news.  When an opponent had suggested a tax hike, the stern Stark swiftly replied: “Not on my watch.” They remembered the ‘progressive’ Republican Governor who reached across the aisle several times during his career.  They remembered that he died of a heart attack halfway through his second term.

They don’t remember his laughs, or his smiles, or him chasing Sansa and Arya across the yard.  They don’t wake up in the middle of the night dreaming of him, only to remember that he’s gone. 

With the beautiful couple gone she began  to lock up the gallery.  She glanced at the clock and cursed.  She should have left already. 

She hurried out of the gallery to catch a train to Grand Central.  She had to run to then catch the next train to Westchester.  Her mother bought a house in her childhood hometown after father’s death.  Her family was meeting there tonight for dinner.  As the wedding was drawing nearer, her brother Robb’s fiancé Jeyne and her family would be there as well.  

Sansa wasn’t sure why the marriage bothered her.  Jeyne was smart, and fun, and everything you’d want in a sister in law.  She also came from a good Republican family.  Sansa knew it was a calculated choice. Robb had big plans for their future.  He saw himself as the next generation’s Eddard Stark.

Eddard had been the son of Irish immigrants.  His father had opened a small factory that manufactured refrigerators.  It grew over the years into a successful company, and under Eddard’s direction it became a massive manufacturing facility, employing thousands of people, reviving the economy of their small town in upstate New York.  He was so influential he began to sit on boards and became a council member.  His family pressured him to get into state politics.  After several years, he ran for Governor as a Republican and won.  Sansa was fifteen when they moved into the Governor’s mansion, and was mostly devastated she had to leave her hometown.  She remembered her father hugging her, promising they’d be back soon, after this ‘silly thing’ was over and the state of New York realized he had no idea was he was doing and kicked him out.  He was elected another term after that. 

Eddard Stark was known for putting his head down and getting to work.  He avoided attention.  He dreaded fancy events and expensive fundraisers, always joking with her mother beforehand about going to the ‘fashion show.’  That was why people loved and respected him.

Robb couldn’t be any more different from their father.  He was more fond of telling people about his accomplishments than he was of the work involved.  And Robb certainly felt that all of his accomplishments were extraordinary.  Robb loved the attention of politics.  He loved to schmooze and flatter.  He thought himself exceptional, when in reality he was merely the mediocre benefactor of Eddard’s hard work. 

Sansa had made the deliberate choice to not get into politics. She majored in Art History.  She studied abroad in Italy.  She distanced herself from anything related to politics.  She moved to Brooklyn and worked in a coffee shop.  Her mother had insisted in helping her find museum internships through their various contacts, and it always bothered Sansa that that was how she got her start in the field.  Since then she had been determined to prove that she was capable of doing the work aside from her connections. 

She’d been so busy checking emails she nearly missed her stop.  Her boss was flying to LA in a few days and Sansa had arranged all of the travel. When her mom's town was announced over the speaker she grabbed her bag and rushed off the train.  She was scanning the parking lot for Arya’s car when her heart stopped dead.  She didn’t see Arya’s car, but she saw Jon Snow’s truck.

Jon was Robb’s best friend, but he was more like a member of the family, another brother.   Except he was a brother who made Sansa’s heart pound.  She wasn’t quite sure how it happened, how she fell in love with Jon Snow. 

Lyanna Snow had been married to Eddard’s older brother Brandon.  Brandon had been charming and adventurous.  Sansa didn’t know him though.  He died in a drunk driving accident, before Sansa was born.  He was the drunk driver.  He killed himself and a college girl.

Lyanna couldn’t handle the loss of Brandon, or the death of the young girl.  She simply disappeared from their lives.  A few years after Brandon died Lyanna got pregnant.  She showed up a few years later, with a little boy named Jon Snow.  Eddard’s guilt over the accident, barely healed, was renewed.  He felt he had to care for Lyanna, and the boy, where Brandon had failed her.  He took in Lyanna and Jon, finding Lyanna a job and moving them into a house down the street from theirs.  Whenever the grief became too much for Lyanna, the Starks would step in, bringing Jon to the house for dinners and movie nights and trips to Six Flags. 

There wasn’t a memory of her life where Sansa could separate Jon.  Every Christmas, every summer barbeque, Jon was there.  Joking with Robb, attentively listening to Eddard, or tickling Arya, he was always there in her mind.  Of the whole family, Jon and Sansa were the least close.  Sansa was always buried in her art books, making her the outsider to their rambunctious trio.  But whenever Robb would mock her interests, Jon would defend her without fail.  Sansa wasn’t quite sure when she realized that she loved him, but when she did, she also realized that she always had.    

 She ran across the parking lot to his black SUV.  She climbed in.  Oh god.  He’d pulled his hair back into a knotted  ponytail, some of the curls escaping.  How the hell was she supposed to survive the car ride with his hair in a ponytail?

“Sup,” she said. 

“Nada,” he replied. 

 _Great start_ , Sansa screamed at herself.  She pretended to look for something in her purse.  Jon pulled onto the road. 

“Arya didn’t want to pick me up?” Sansa asked, not having anything else to go on.

“Your mom is freaking out about dinner, running around doing a million things. She sent Arya to go get the cakes.  So I got enlisted to pick you up,” he said.

“Cakes, as in more than one cake?” Sansa asked. 

“Yeah, I guess Jeyne’s sister is gluten free or something,” he shrugged. 

“Of course she is,” Sansa laughed.  “Even more for Mom to freak out about.”

“Yeah, she’s in full stress mode.  When I left she was cleaning the closets,” Jon said, knowing Caitlin’s tendency to take her stress out through unimportant tasks.

“Oh boy,”  she said, realizing she had exhausted the topics of cakes and stress cleaning and now had nothing else to go on.  Shit.

“How’s work?” Jon asked, rescuing them.

“It’s really good actually.  I just closed on another painting today,” she said shyly.

“Congrats.  What painting?” he asked.  He followed up with additional questions and before Sansa knew it she was gushing about the painting and the artist.  When she realized she was rambling, she apologized.  He shrugged. 

“I like hearing you talk about art.  I learn something about culture.  Not something that happens too often in my field,” Jon said, joking about his job in finance.  He’d always had a head for numbers.  He took easily to accounting, working summers for her father, and then got a job at a financial firm in Manhattan. 

Sansa wondered if he might have pursued something else if he hadn’t been so worried about paying back his student debt.  She felt a stab of guilt.  Her parents had paid for her to go to college in full, and she’d graduated not only with zero student debt but a small savings account.  It was the only reason she’d been able to take such risks with her career.  Jon had continuously made safe decisions for his career.  Sansa knew that as a child, Jon had been embarrassed depending on the Starks for so much.  She knew his career choices had been in part to prove he wasn’t dependent on anyone.   While she felt terrible that he felt that way, she was also proud of him.  Despite the fact that Jon was best friends with Robb, they had little in common.  In fact with his modesty, determination, and self reliance, Jon was more like Eddard than Robb was. 

“Oh well, yeah.  You should come see me sometime.  I mean, the gallery.  You should come see me sometime at the gallery.  The art speaks for itself, much better than I do,” Sansa rushed out. 

“Yeah, sometime soon, definitely,” he said as they pulled into the driveway. 

They got into the house and were immediately greeted by her mother.  She rushed up to them, wearing an apron, her hair in curlers. 

“Oh Sansa, thank god.  Go get changed.  I steamed your blue dress.  Then on your way down, get the napkins from the linen closet and the napkin rings from the drawer.  Jon, go get the ice from the outside fridge and chill the white wine.   Go on!” she commanded.  Jon and Sansa smiled at each other and set off on their separate tasks. 

Her bedroom in her mother’s home was technically her third childhood bedroom.  It didn’t quite feel like hers, but she still appreciated that her mother carved out a space for her in her new home.  As promised, the blue dress was laid out on the bed, along with a pair of earrings.  Sansa was looking for a matching necklace when she happened upon one her father had bought her and her stomach seized in pain.  She took a few deep breaths and moved on.  She wondered if that would ever go away. 

Sansa was putting the finishing touches on the table when Arya got there.  She loaded the cakes into the fridge. 

“What’s new with you?” Sansa asked her sister.

“Not much.  I’m going to need a drink to get through this night though,” Arya muttered. 

“Or several ,” Sansa agreed.

A few moments later Jeyne and her family arrived.  Sansa and Arya were well trained: taking coats, pouring drinks, passing hors d’ouevres.  Jon kept replenishing the ice and cleaning up after people.  Robb mostly worked the room, chatting with everyone. 

Jeyne’s father Thomas worked in construction management, which was how he became involved in politics.  The two went hand in hand and the family was rather wealthy.  Her mom Sarah had stayed home to raise Jeyne and her sister.  She was active in their church and was involved in a few different charities.

Her mother called everyone into the dining room.  She sat at one head of the table with Robb at the other, Jeyne at his right, and her parents and sister to her right.  Jon, Sansa, and Arya sat opposite them.  Sansa didn’t move quickly enough and got stuck in between Jon and Arya. She cursed internally, wondering how she’d make it through the meal in such proximity to Jon.  She sat down next to him and got a whiff of his cologne as he reached for the green beans.  He smelled like a hunting cabin upstate mixed with peppermint sex.  She wasn’t going to make it. 

Luckily plenty of boring small talk followed.  It mostly centered around the impending wedding, only two weeks away.  Sansa tried to focus on the discussion of flowers and other such serious matters.

Sarah laughed at some gaff the florist had made.  She smiled across the table at the two Starks and Snow.  “Well anyway, enough about the wedding.  How are you three doing?” she asked sweetly.

“Well, thank you,” Jon said politely.

“And you Sansa?  How’s work?”

“Really busy, but I love it,” Sansa responded.

“And you Arya?  How’s school?” she asked.  Arya was currently studying to get her masters in education and teaching in Harlem.

“It’s great, a lot of work, but great,” Arya said.  She was passionate about education.

“That’s wonderful.  Have you made a lot of friends at your program?” Sarah asked.

“Well, I met my girlfriend,” Arya said without hesitation.  Things went silent.  The rumor had floated around the family that Arya was seeing a girl, but no one had actually said it.  Caitlin clutched her chest.  No one seemed to know what to do.  Sarah looked like a deer in headlights.

“Well it’s really hard to meet people in the city. You end up spending all your time with work friends,” Sansa said quickly. Arya’s face darkened.  Of course Sansa would be the one to change the subject .  Sansa didn’t know what was worse, the discomfort, or her obvious attempt to correct the discomfort.

“Sansa sold a painting today,” Jon contributed.

“Fantastic,” Sarah rushed.  “What kind of painting?”

“Um, David Alfaro Siquerios.  He’s a Mexican painter,” Sansa gave her spiel on the panting.  She intentionally left out that the painter was a Marxist leader.  Mentioning that would probably kill someone. 

The conversation returned to safer topics like place settings and thank you notes. Things relaxed the same way they do your boss squeezes on to an already crowded elevator.

The rest of the dinner was uneventful. They cleared the dishes and served the cakes, with and without gluten. 

Jeyne and her family left for the evening.  Catelyn excused herself for bed.  Jon, Sansa and Arya were in the kitchen finishing cleaning while Robb was walking Jeyne to the car.

“Thanks for emergency subject change there Sansa,” Arya spat.  “God forbid someone tell the truth about their life.”

“What the hell Arya,” Sansa said.  She was tired and wasn’t in the mood for a fight.  She also knew there was a second layer to what she meant about telling the truth and she had no fucking right.

“Well maybe don’t tell everyone you’re gay in the middle of dinner with my future inlaws, and Sansa, that was a hell of a save, did they teach you that in sales school,” Robb snapped, walking back into the kitchen.

“Oh geez, I’m so sorry Robb that my experience as a human conflicts with your perfect Republican dream,” Arya snapped back. 

“Oh Arya I am so sick of—”

“Stop it.  Stop it both you.  Robb, Arya is allowed to say that she has a girlfriend.  Arya, I’m sorry that I changed the subject.  I just knew that it might make some people feel uncomfortable.”

“They’re going to continue to feel uncomfortable if you don’t let conversations happen,” Arya stated.

“Yes, I know, I’m sorry.  I panicked,” Sansa apologized.

The three of them starred each other down, all of them pissed with the other two.  It was the only way they fought, everyone equally angry.

“Guys I think tonight went great.  Arya, I think you made progress, and I think Sansa did the right thing.  Now they have time to adjust to it and bring it up to you when they’re ready.  And there’s no need to get angry,” Jon spoke for the first time, looking like some sort of James Dean despite the fact that he was leaning back against a sink and wearing an apron.

Arya gave Jon a hard stare.  He was the only one of the three of them that could get her to calm down. 

“Fine,” she said, slamming the green beans down.

“Fine,” Robb said, storming off.

“Yeah, fine,” Sansa muttered.  She focused on putting leftovers in Tupperware as a distraction.  Sansa, Arya and Jon finished cleaning in relative silence. 

When the dishwasher was loaded and the counters were wiped, Arya said a hasty goodnight, leaving Sansa and Jon in the kitchen.  Sansa panicked, having exhausted all of her possible conversation topics other than, ‘I love you please kiss me,’ in the car ride.  After careful consideration, she decided on leftovers.

“You want any leftovers?  Any gluten free cake?”

“I think I’m all set on cake, gluten or otherwise,” Jon said, smiling.

“Understandable,” she replied.  They both stood fidgeting with anything nearby.  They’d either have to decide to do something else or say goodnight, and neither seemed to be making any motions. 

“You really helped your mom out tonight,” Jon said, gesturing broadly to the kitchen.

“Yeah, well, someone’s got to.  Somehow Robb never learned how to clean,” Sansa said with a little more malice than she intended. 

Jon looked surprised, but then nodded, admitting, “Yeah, he’s got a few blind spots.”

“But thank you for all of your help, and picking me up from the station,” Sansa said.

“Of course, anytime,” he said.

Well, leftover and thank you’s.  They’d pretty much covered it. 

Jon pulled his keys out of his pocket.  He stared at them for a second before saying, “Well I should get going.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Sansa walked him to the door.  Standing in the entryway, he opened his arms to her.  She smiled and went in for a hug.  She could smell his hunting-cabin-peppermint-sex combo and wanted to bury her face in his hair.  Instead she patted him twice on the back and pulled away.

“Get home safe,” she said.

“Good night San,” he said, leaving. 

She locked the door behind him and went up to her room.  She changed for bed and collapsed, the weight of the day still on her.  Her head was buzzing, coming down off of too much white wine.  She was frustrated and annoyed with her siblings; their paradoxical needs for perfection and to rock the status quo.  She tossed and turned for some time, frustrated with both of them.  Her thoughts turned to Jon.  She thought of his smile, his warmth, the way that he asked her questions about her work.  And then there was that hunting-cabin-peppermint-sex smell. She swore she could still smell it on her.  The knot of frustration in her stomach turned into a different kind of knot.  She finally put her hand into her pajama bottoms to stroke herself.  She thought of Jon: kissing her, pulling her hair, fucking her.  She wanted him so badly, that in that moment she could forget that she’d never have him.  She rubbed herself furiously until she came.  Finally, she turned to her side and fell asleep. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon debates with Arya and gets a strange phone call from Sansa.
> 
> I updated the tags, but just a heads up: This is going to deal with homophobia and some mention of politics.

Jon closed the front door behind him. He bolted for his truck, cursing every step of the way.

He buckled his seatbelt, muttering, “Way to go, Snow. That was goddamn brilliant.”

He drove the twenty minutes to his house, in a more modest section a few towns over, wondering what had possessed him to ever use the phrase “gluten or otherwise.”

Normally he could hold his own with women, easily laughing and flirting. He was impossibly awkward whenever he was alone with Sansa. With her, only the stupidest topics came to mind.

That was probably because he was in love with her.

He couldn’t pick a particular moment that it had happened. Was it the time that ten year old Sansa had painted him a picture of a flower when he had strep throat? Was it the time that thirteen year old Sansa had clutched his hand at the haunted house? Or the seventeen year old who wore a sundress and brought him lemonade like she had a hundred times before, although this time everything was different?

Jon suspected it was all of the moments. All of those moments throughout his entire life knitted together that led up to his love for Sansa. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Jon got home and poured himself a bourbon, collapsing into his favorite chair. He stared hard at the amber liquid. None of those sweet moments mattered, because of one not-so-sweet moment.

It had been a few days after the Starks and Jon had gotten back from the inaugural trip to the Stark’s lake house. There were just a few weeks left in school. At the time, Sansa and Arya were obsessed with those disposable cameras. They had taken an absurd amount of pictures at the lake house.

Robb and Jon had been sitting on the floor of the living room with their textbooks, studying for their last few exams. Sansa and Arya got home from developing the pictures and all four of them spread out the pictures. There were plenty of Robb and Jon running off the dock and jumping into the freezing water. There were a few of Catelynn carrying out the burgers for Ned to grill. Plenty of their golden retriever Lady sitting in attention by the grill. There were a bunch Sansa and Arya had taken of each other. There were several in rapid succession of Sansa. There was nothing risqué about them, she was wearing a bathing suit with a tank top and shorts over it, but they had mesmerized Jon. Something about her laugh, her wet hair drying in soft curls, he couldn’t help it. When they weren’t paying attention he stuck one of the pictures into his biology book.

It should have been safe there. It was the one class he didn’t have with Robb. He could sit in class and stare at the picture while his teacher explained the difference between mitosis and meiosis for the tenth time, some of the class still confused. If they were so different, maybe they shouldn’t have given them such similar names, he thought, looking at the sun shining on Sansa’s hair.

But of course, it wasn’t safe there. Of course they were going through their books at the end of the year, and of course Robb grabbed his biology book, and of course the picture fluttered to the floor at Robb’s feet.

“What’s this?” he reached down and picked it up, finding his sister on the glossy picture.

Jon stood perfectly still, saying nothing.

“Why do you have a picture of Sansa?” Robb asked, his face reddening.

Jon panicked. What could he do? Lie to his best friend?

Robb didn’t wait for his response. He crumbled the picture up in his hand and threw it into Jon’s trash can.

“If you ever touch my sister, I will fucking kill you,” he threatened, and stormed out of the room.

They never spoke about it ever again. They just went back to playing basketball and video games. Jon intentionally kept more distance between himself and Sansa. Eventually Robb and Jon left for college. Jon fell hard for Amy. She was from Wisconsin and played ice hockey and cursed like a sailor. She was nothing like Sansa. They were so different that Robb never mentioned it again.

And what could Jon do? How could he go against Robb’s wishes?

Jon could never pay his debt to the Starks. If Robb didn’t want him to touch Sansa, then he couldn’t.

Jon’s own father had never been in his life. After Brandon died, Lyanna left New York. There were too many memories: their favorite restaurant, the park where they played soccer, the road where he killed that girl. Lyanna left to live in a small town in Arizona. She worked for an immigration non-profit and learned some Spanish. She said the hot air and the warm people cured her. She used to laugh when she talked about it there. “Oh god Jon, it was so hot, but the burritos were worth it.”

Jon got up to refill his glass, thinking about his mother. Her huge smile, her bubbly personality, her highs and her lows.

She never talked about his father, whoever he was. Lyanna eventually let on that he was a good friend from work. He was kind and funny. He rode his bike to work. He would walk Lyanna to her car at the end of the day. He was a great guy, but not in any place to be a Dad. Whoever he was, he left little of himself in Jon’s face. He had his mother’s dark hair and gray eyes. When Jon was a baby Lyanna returned to New York so that Jon could grow up around family, both Lyanna’s parents and the Starks. Jon knew it was a sacrifice. She had clearly loved Arizona. Instead she moved back to a town filled with so many ghosts.

He always wondered what might have happened if they stayed in Arizona. His Mom might have been happier. He might have known his Dad. He definitely would not have known the Starks.

The Starks didn’t think twice about taking in Jon and Lyanna with open arms. No questions were asked about his father, or lack thereof.

Eddard made it his personal responsibility to look after his brother’s widow and her young son. He got Lyanna a job in one of his companies. She eventually became the head of human resources for the entire corporation. He helped her with a down payment on a comfortable home. Ned and Cat were newlyweds and recently had their own baby boy so it was only natural for Cat and Lyanna to spend Saturday afternoons walking their strollers around the neighborhood. Jon and Lyanna were a permanent feature at Stark Thanksgivings, Christmases and Birthdays.

The value of the job and the home couldn’t be understated, but the most important thing Eddard gave Jon was his time. The precious little time he had when he wasn’t busy running a company or the state. He took Robb and Jon hunting and swimming and ice skating. He sat with Jon and worked on his math homework. He wrote letters and made phone calls to make sure Jon attended the same schools that his own children did. He treated Jon like one of his own children, even though they were of no blood relation. Whoever the hippie in Arizona was, Jon truly felt that the closest he would ever have to a father was Ned Stark. When Ned died, Jon held it together in front of the Stark children, but privately, he lost it.

Which made his feelings for Sansa even more impossible. His feelings for Sansa were a betrayal of Ned’s memory. He remembered the way Ned had doted on Sansa. He’d been just as invested in dance recitals and art classes as he had been in the boy’s activities. When he thought about what Ned would say if he learned about Jon’s feelings for Sansa, his stomach clenched with guilt.

Jon stumbled into his room and changed out of his clothes. He was hanging his tie up on a rack in his closet when he spotted an old shoe box. It was filled with sports and scouting badges, Christmas cards and letters, and a picture. A picture that had been crumpled and smoothed back out as best as he could. A picture of a girl he would never have.

He held the picture for a few moments, smoothing it out again, like he had been for years. The picture of the girl with sun shining on her hair was now the woman who looked after her widowed mother, looked stunning as she served hors d’oeuvres, and sold art in a fancy gallery. He thought about Sansa’s body in the blue dress tonight and yearned for her. Angry with himself, he tossed the picture back in the box and dropped it to the floor of his closet. He’d tortured himself enough for one night.

The next morning he awoke to series of texts from Arya. She wanted to get breakfast from their favorite bagel shop. Jon took a quick shower and put on jeans and a t shirt.

When he got to the bagel shop Arya was already there, drinking coffee. He sat down across from her.

“You’re late,” she said.

“I was sleeping when you texted me. You should be nicer to people who rush to meet you on a Saturday morning,” Jon said, reaching across the table to pinch her.

She smiled and swatted him away. They ordered bagels and Jon got a coffee as well.

“How do you think last night went?” Arya asked around a mouthful of cream cheese.

“Well enough. I’ll be glad when this wedding is over. I can’t take much more discussion of flowers and place settings,” Jon said, stirring his coffee. The wedding was less than a month away and there was still plenty to be done. Robb kept complaining to him about Jeyne’s mounting stress.

“Are you going to bring a date?” Arya questioned. The question immediately annoyed Jon. It was the last thing in the world he wanted to talk about. He did not relish the idea of being single at a wedding where he was the best man. He could find some random date, but he didn’t want to bring a date to an event where Sansa would obviously be. It also wasn’t fair to whatever girl he might bring.

“No, I’m not actually,” he admitted. Arya shot him a look.

“Is this about Amy? Are you still not over her? Jon, I know you loved her, but it’s been years,” Arya stressed.

“It has nothing to do with Amy,” Jon muttered. In fact Jon had recently seen online that she’d gotten married herself. He’d felt strangely relieved when he found out. He’d always felt guilty about the way he’d left her so abruptly after five years of dating. “Besides, I’ve dated other girls since.”

Arya rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh yeah, idiot finance girls that don’t talk about anything other than their purses, and don’t last longer than an few months.”

“Well what can I say Arya, not everyone is a glowing conversationalist like yourself,” Jon said sarcastically. Why was Arya questioning him like this? She rarely showed any interest in his personal life. In fact she never asked him anything like this unless it was because she had something to talk about.

“What’s the deal Arya. Why do you care if I bring someone? Are you bringing this girl?” Jon asked.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted.

“What’s her name, by the way?” Jon asked.

“Isabella,” Arya replied.

“That’s pretty. Where’s she from?” Jon asked as he tore apart his bagel.

“Colombia,” Arya said, redistributing the cream cheese on hers.

“The college?” Jon assumed.

“The country,” Arya corrected, still spreading the cream cheese.

“Oh.”

There was a pause as they both worked on their food.

“How long have you two been dating?” he asked.

“A few months. We were friends for a while before we started dating,” she explained.

“Listen, Arya. I say bring her if you really want to, if you really feel like it’s dishonest for you to not bring her. But the flip side of it is this. Bringing someone to a family wedding is a big deal. Your entire family will be there. It’s a lot, especially if you’ve only been dating a few months. And rushing intimacy is never a good idea, regardless of the person’s gender,” Jon advised.

Arya regarded him carefully, weighing his words. Jon took a chance and kept going.

“Is that all this is about, or is it something else?”

“I don’t think Robb approves of me dating a girl. I can just sense it,” Arya stated, clenching her coffee cup.

“He loves you, Arya, you know that,” Jon said gently.

“He loves me, but does he accept me?” Arya demanded.

“Is there a difference?” Jon wondered.

“Yes. There absolutely is. He can say that he loves me, he can even mean it, but there’s part of him that hates part of me,” Arya said, attempting to keep her voice low.

“Hate? That’s a really strong word— ” Jon began.

“Is it? When the legislation was proposed, he spoke out against gay marriage—repeatedly. How would you feel if Robb didn’t want you to be with the person you loved?” Arya asked with anger in her voice. I know better than you can imagine how that feels, Jon thought.

“Just because someone argues over the semantics doesn’t mean they hate anyone.” Jon was confused. He knew that Robb was stubborn and old fashioned, determined to follow in his father’s Republican footsteps, but he could never imagine how Arya thought that meant that Robb could hate anyone, much less Arya.

“No, it just means that semantics are more important to them than human rights,” she stated.

“Listen, Arya, I think sometimes Robb feels like he has to hold up your Dad’s Republican values—" Jon started.

“Yeah, exactly, by marrying little Miss Sarah Palin,” she interrupted.

“Ah, there it is. It’s not really about wanting to bring your girlfriend, it’s about wanting to stick it to your new conservative in-laws? With your Latina girlfriend? Let me guess, she’s here illegally?” Jon asked, tossing his napkin down.

“She’s a Dreamer,” Arya said defiantly.

“Look, you can bring your illegal immigrant girlfriend to your brother’s Republican conservative wedding if you want to, and I’ll knock out anyone who says otherwise. But in the end, you know who that’s not fair to? Isabella. She’s a person you love, not a political protest,” Jon finished.

She glared at him. “You’re really annoying, you know that, right?”

“I sure do,” Jon agreed. “Anyway, whether you bring this girl or not, I’d like to meet her soon.”

She softened. “That would be great,” Arya said.

“You said she’s Colombian? Can she introduce me to Sophia Vergara?” Jon said jokingly.

Arya tossed a napkin at him. “Yeah, of course, they all know each other,” she spat.

Jon thought he had a chance to ever so casually change the subject.

“Do you know if Sansa is bringing anyone?” he asked as casually as his pounding heart would allow.

Arya rolled her eyes and asked, “How the hell should I know?”

“I don’t know, she is your sister,” Jon suggested.

“All she’s been talking about lately is work. She’s super stressed out because her boss is flying to LA for a gallery opening and she had book all of the travel and ship a whole bunch of stuff there."

“Yikes.”

“Yeah it sounds like a real pain. All for the honor of working for some d-bag gallery owner in Manhattan,” she said.

“It sounds like she really cares about it,” Jon defended.

“I guess,” Arya shrugged. By then they had both finished their food and a few coffee refills. Jon paid the check for both of them—Arya was still in school and not making any money—and they left.

They walked around the town center for a while. It still had the quaint, cookie cutter feel of a town straight out of the 1950s. Glass storefronts displayed baked goods and advertised tailors. Caitlin had grown up here and moved back after Ned’s death. After losing her beloved husband, her childhood home was a welcome comfort. Jon could see why. It was a small town with a beautiful view of the Hudson. The Stark kids had plenty of memories from visiting their grandparents there. Jon happened to find a small home a couple towns over, mostly for the convenient commute to the city. He tried to stop by Caitlin’s once in a while, mostly to fix or move something in exchange for baked chicken or banana bread.

He and Arya walked idly for some time, chatting about movies and video games. They eventually hugged and parted ways.

The rest of the weekend went by too quickly, and before Jon knew it was over. Monday afternoon found Jon sitting at his desk, bored. He pulled up the website for Sansa’s gallery. Under the “About Us” page there was a picture of her and a short bio. He’d read it at least a hundred times, but decided once more couldn’t hurt.

His phone began to vibrate and he had a small heart attack when he saw Sansa’s name on the screen. She never called. For one wild moment he thought that she must have somehow known that he was looking at her site. He tried to tell himself that was impossible and picked up the phone.

“Hello?” Jon said, trying to sound cool.

“Jon? It’s Sansa,” she began. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I didn’t have anyone else to call. I need your help.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well…I have to get a dog to the cargo area of JFK for a flight that’s in three hours or I’m going to lose my job,” she explained.
> 
> “That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” he responded. 
> 
> “It’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever said. I hate to ask you this, but can you pick up me and a pit bull at my gallery and drive us to JFK?” she asked, wincing as she said it.

There was a light gray pitbull in Sansa’s art gallery. The dog seemed to be looking at her, judging her. Sansa was a failure. Everyone knew it. Even the dog knew it.

She had seriously fucked up. She had been in charge of arranging all of the travel plans for her boss to go to LA. They were opening the West Coast branch of the gallery, so Donna would be out there for several months. Sansa had found a rental home that both had a pool and was an easy drive to the new gallery. She arranged for a rental car. She had shipped several priceless paintings to the gallery. She found a yoga instructor and masseuse who made house calls to both locations. She booked a first class flight to LA for both her boss and her wife. She even booked their dog, a light gray pitbull named Pumpkin, on the same flight.

Sansa had failed to look into all of the rules about flying with a dog. She’d assumed you simply checked the dog—in it’s crate—like you would any other piece of luggage. She didn’t know that animals had to be brought to an entirely separate part of the airport to be loaded with the cargo, not with passenger baggage. In addition to getting to the airport later than they were supposed to, Donna and Pam had already parked the car in long term parking and had no way of getting the dog to the cargo area in time to make the flight. The dog couldn’t stay at the airport unattended. Their only option was to put the dog in a taxi and send him back to the gallery. And so, Pumpkin the pit bull took a taxi from JFK to the art gallery in the Lower East Side.

Sansa found out about this in a string of angry calls and texts. She was surprised she hadn’t already been fired, but it likely was just because there would not have been anyone to deal with Pumpkin. She stood in the gallery, clutching her phone, shaking. She couldn’t believe she’d fucked up this horribly.

There was only one thing that was saving Sansa’s job. Pam’s niece was flying into LA from Chicago for a vacation and to visit with her Aunts. She was getting into LAX that night. If Sansa could get Pumpkin on a plane that would get in around the same time, she’d be saved. But she had to get the dog there in time to get checked in at the cargo area. 

The next flight was at seven o’clock. They’d have to be there at five thirty, and it was already four o’clock. It would be cutting it close, but it was possible. Except that Sansa didn’t have a car and an Uber would cost a fortune, and she was already in trouble. She racked her brain to think of who she knew in the city with a car. She could only think of one person, and he smelled like peppermint sex. Jon was the last person she wanted to call, and the only one she could.

Hands shaking, she pulled up his number. She’d only ever called him a handful of times, to track down Robb or ask him to pick something up for a party. She prayed that it might go to voicemail, but he picked up immediately. 

“Hello?”

“Jon? It’s Sansa,” she began. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I didn’t have anyone else to call. I need your help,” she rushed out desperately.

“Sure, what’s up?” he asked. He seemed distracted as well. Sansa worried that she’d caught him doing something important.

“Um, well, did you drive into the city or take the train today?” she asked.

“I drove in. Why, Sansa, what’s up? Are you okay?” his voice was gentle with concern.

“Well…I have to get a dog to the cargo area of JFK for a flight that’s in three hours or I’m going to lose my job,” she explained.

“That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” he responded. 

“It’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever said. I hate to ask you this, but can you pick up me and a pit bull at my gallery and drive us to JFK?” she asked, wincing as she said it.

“Sure, what time is the flight?”

“7pm, but we have to be there by 5:30.” she said, glancing at the clock. It was a few minutes after four o’clock. 

“Jesus. Alright, I’m leaving now,” he said quickly.

“Thank you so much. The gallery is on—”

“Second Avenue. Be there in about twenty minutes,” he said, and hung up. Sansa wondered if she’d ever told him where the gallery was.

Sansa walked Pumpkin around the block, cursing him every step. He didn’t weigh more than forty pounds, but it was forty pounds of pure muscle. He enthusiastically dragged her around the block, nearly pulling her arm out of its socket. Her golden retriever Lady walked on her leash like a Queen, leaving her unprepared for this beast. She felt bad for how much she hated him. This situation wasn’t Pumpkin’s fault, and he was actually a sweet dog, but he didn’t know his own strength or the predicament she was in because of him. The June weather was already starting to heat up, and she was quickly sweating from the temperature and stress.

Sansa wanted to be ready to go as soon as Jon got there, so she locked up and pulled Pumpkin’s crate out onto the sidewalk. She kneeled to face him. She tried to get him into the crate, but he wouldn’t budge. She pushed on his chest as hard as she could, he simply looked at her, confused. 

“Pumpkin! In the crate!” Sansa commanded. He yawned.

“Having some trouble?” a voice behind her asked. She turned and saw Jon, standing above her. 

“A great deal, in fact,” she complained. Jon grabbed Pumpkin’s collar and turned him so that he was facing the crate, and guided him in. Sansa was immediately angry for not thinking of that. 

“Come on, help me get him in the car, we don’t have a lot of time,” Jon said, and the two lifted the crate into the back of Jon’s SUV. They got in and Jon started driving. Sansa pulled up the directions on her phone.

“So how did we end up escorting Pumpkin today?” Jon asked.

“I’m a failure, that’s how,” Sansa said in a huff.

“I’m sure you’re not a failure, but what happened?” he asked.

Sansa explained it as well as she could, trying to censor her emotions as she spoke. Jon listened carefully. 

“So they didn’t know about know about the rules either? Haven’t they ever flown with the dog before? And wasn’t getting to the airport late part of the issue?” Jon asked, trying to comfort her.

“I still should have found out about the rules first. It’s my fault,” Sansa said, knowing she needed to take responsibility for this.

“I think you covered their asses for this trip, and made one small mistake,” Jon protested. She was touched by his protectiveness.

“That’s sweet, but I think you’re biased,” Sansa stated.

“I’m biased?” Jon seemed surprised.

“Of course you are, we’re family,” Sansa said.

“Oh. Family, of course. Well still, I think it was one small mistake,” Jon said. 

“Thanks. I just hope I didn’t pull you away from anything too important at work,” she said apologetically.

Jon shrugged. “Nah, I was bored. Was about to leave soon anyway.”

Every time the traffic would build up Sansa’s heart would begin to pound. She kept watching the clock. Pumpkin, for all of his annoyances, seemed to enjoy the ride and stayed calm and quiet in the back of the SUV.

Traffic slowed for what seemed like the tenth time and Sansa sighed out of frustration. 

“We’re almost there,” Jon said, and reached across to squeeze her knee. Her skin tingled where he’d touched her. 

They finally got to the airport, but drove around a solid twenty minutes trying to find the cargo location. Sansa never knew how much area the airport actually covered, thinking of it as only the terminal and parking garage. It seemed like it went on forever, with nothing but planes and one story buildings. In truth it was a bit creepy. The building they had to find was at least a mile from the terminal. Sansa doubted her boss would have been able to find it even if they had arrived on time. 

They finally found it and Sansa jumped out of the car to run into what looked like a warehouse. In the front of the building was a small room with blue counter. A woman sat behind the counter, sifting through paperwork.

“Hi, is this were you bring animals?” she asked, panting.

“What flight?” she asked. Sansa gave her the information. The woman looked at the clock and frowned. 

“You’re cutting it really close,” she chastised. 

“I know, I’m so sorry, it’s my boss’s dog, it’s a whole thing. I’d really appreciate it if you could help us,” Sansa pleaded. By then Jon had arrived, carrying Pumpkin’s crate. He gave the woman his most charming, I-know-my-dimples-are-weapons smile.

“Fine,” she said, before she got on a walky talkie and began to read out a string of complicated codes. She led them through a door to a massive warehouse. There were rows of shipping crates and forklifts. It reminded Sansa of one of her Dad’s factories. 

She had Sansa sign a pile of documents while she slapped bright orange stickers on the crate that read “LIVE ANIMAL.” Pumpkin whined, sensing something was up. She checked the forms Sansa had brought with her as well. A man arrived to take the crate.

“Is that a pit bull?” he asked bluntly. Jon and Sansa froze. Even Pumpkin shut up. “Pit bulls are a restricted breed.”

Sansa was flooded with panic. This was it, she was going to lose her job. At least she’d get a new dog out of it, albeit one she hated.

“Nope, not a pit bull. It’s a Staffordshire Terrier. You can tell by the marks on his chest,” Jon blurted. Sansa wondered where he’d pulled that from. If it worked, she didn’t care.

“Looks like a pit bull,” he said skeptically.

“Everyone thinks that. Different breed though,” Jon rushed.

“It’s fine, Frank,” the woman grumbled. Sansa wondered if she just didn’t care, or pitied Sansa.

The man shook his head but loaded Pumpkin onto a pushcart. 

“Bye Pumpkin, have fun in California,” Jon called after him. 

Sansa stayed still, not believing this ordeal was truly over. The woman handed her a paper and receipt and said “You’re all set.”

“Thank you so much,” Sansa said. She and Jon headed back to the car where Sansa nearly collapsed in the passenger’s seat. There was stunned silence in the car.

“What the fuck is a Staffordshire Terrier?” Sansa asked, finally broking the silence. 

“It’s the fancy way to say pit bull,” Jon explained.

She put her hands on her face. “Oh my god. I can’t believe we got away with that,” she mumbled through her hands. 

“Breed restriction is bullshit. Pumpkin’s on his way to California, that’s all that matters,” Jon said.

“At least I have a few months until Pumpkin and his mommies come back,” Sansa said, exhausted. Sansa realized they were in the middle of nowhere on a week night and felt guilty for dragging Jon through this. 

“Um, if you need to get back to Westchester,” she started, “I can just take the train back to the city.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll drop you off in Brooklyn,” he said as they pulled onto the road.

“Are you sure? You’ve already done so much.”

“Of course.”

Once the stress started to wear off, Sansa realized she was starving. During the chaos of the afternoon she’d forgotten to eat lunch. Luckily, it was quicker getting back to Sansa’s neighborhood in Brooklyn. When they pulled onto Sansa’s street, she took a risk.

“Are you hungry? There’s a great Mexican place on the corner,” she said, fidgeting with her seatbelt. “I at least owe you dinner for everything you did.”

“I am pretty hungry,” he admitted. 

“Great, they have the best burritos. You’ll love it,” she said, pointing out a parking space. They walked to the restaurant. It was small and decorated with murals of Mexican landscapes. Within a few minutes they had collapsed into a booth and ordered guacamole and burritos.

“Anything to drink? The margaritas are delicious,” the waitress suggested.

“Yes. Strawberry. On the rocks. No salt,” Sansa ordered. She needed a drink to take the edge off. Jon ordered a beer, laughing that tequila got him in trouble. They chatted while waiting for their food. The waitress dropped off their drinks and guac and they quickly dove in.

“So, are you ready for this wedding?” Jon asked, trying to steer the conversation away from the day’s events.

“I mean at this point everything is pretty much done,” she said, stabbing a piece of avocado with her chip. “We just got our bridesmaids dresses. I’m not thrilled about a floor length dress in June, but the color is at least pretty, so I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“What did Arya say?” Jon asked.

“She feels the same way about it that she feels about all dresses. She hates it,” Sansa replied, laughing. “But she’s been a good sport about it. She knows it’s about Jeyne, not us.”

“That’s a good way to look at it,” Jon said, breaking a chip in two pieces. “So, um, are you, like, bringing anyone?”

“To the wedding? God no. I’m going to be running around helping my Mom and Jeyne. I’ll be too busy to bring someone. Plus I wouldn’t want to subject someone to my entire family in one fell swoop,” she said as their burritos arrived.

“Yeah, that’s what I told Arya about bringing Isabella. It’s a lot all at once,” Jon said, reaching for the hot sauce.

Sansa looked surprised. “She was thinking about bringing Isabella?” 

“Yeah,” he said taking a bite. He wasn’t sure if it was his hunger, but the roasted chicken was easily the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. Sansa cut into hers to make the colossal burrito more manageable.

“She tells you so much more than she tells me,” Sansa said, with more than a hint of sadness in her voice. 

“Don’t worry San,” he said wiping his mouth. “She’s always been really private.”

Sansa ordered another margarita. Jon was barely halfway through his first beer.

“Yeah,” she agreed, stabbing at her burrito. “Are you bringing anyone?”

“Oh, um, no, same reason I guess,” he said.

“The three Stark kids, with no dates,” Sansa joked.

“Well I’m technically not a Stark,” he said. The waitress dropped off Sansa’s margarita.

“Close enough. I guess it’s a good thing. Three less people to a wedding that’s already huge,” she said as she squeezed the lime into the drink. It gave her courage to look across the table at Jon. The heat of the day had forced him to take off his tie and unbutton the top few buttons. She could see a triangle of skin peaking out from his light blue shirt. She bet that his skin was salty with sweat. It would go perfectly with the sweetness of her margarita. She tried to push the thought out of her mind, considering it was about a man she’d just described as practically a Stark. 

“Yeah, I heard there was some drama about getting the ballroom that would be big enough to hold everyone?” Jon asked.

“Well considering Robb invited every Republican in New York state, yeah,” Sansa said rolling her eyes. “My mom called in a favor to the venue. Former governor and everything, you know.”

“That was nice of her,” Jon said.

“Yeah,” Sansa said, looking into her glass. Something suddenly came over her. “I just stress out sometimes that none of us know how to do anything because our Dad was the governor. Like this epic fuck up today. Maybe I just don’t know how to follow through on things because someone would always fix them for me.” She wasn’t sure if her honesty had been released by the tequila, or the kindness in Jon’s eyes.

“Hey,” Jon said softly, “You need to stop being so hard on yourself. I’m pretty certain that most people don’t know how to ship dogs across the country, whether or not their Dad was the governor. It’s not exactly common knowledge.”

“Yeah but maybe if I wasn’t so spoiled I would have looked into it. Or what if that lady only let us ship him because she recognized me,” Sansa said as her insecurities rushed out of her. 

“I think she let you ship him because she was a decent human being,” Jon reasoned, “and I think you should be objective about this. You didn’t go into manufacturing, or politics. You went into a field totally unrelated to anything your Dad did. I don’t think that’s what a spoiled person would do.”

“I just feel really stupid about today,” she admitted.

“It’s alright. I think you’re allowed. You made a mistake. You can feel stupid for a day if you want to. But I don’t think you should let it make you question everything or think that you’re spoiled,” he said.

Sansa rubbed her eyes and nodded, unable to say anything else.

“How about we split dessert? Will that make you feel better?” Jon suggested. She smiled and said “You know the way to my heart.”

“You always had a sweet tooth,” he smiled. They split a flan as Jon tried to lighten her mood by teasing her about her love of fancy desserts with strange names. When the check came, Sansa had to insist on paying several times before Jon relented.

“Fine, I’m letting you pay, but only because you’re a strong, independent woman,” he stated.

“Thank you. And it’s the least I could do.”

They gathered up their things and walked outside. The air was still warm. Jon insisted on walking Sansa to her door. 

“I thought I was a strong, independent woman?” she teased.

“Yes, and it would be my pleasure to walk such a woman to her door,” he said as they crossed the street.

“This is it,” she said when they were at the entrance to her building. “I really can’t thank you enough. A burrito and a beer really isn’t sufficient.”

“It’s more than enough, I’m happy to help,” Jon said.

“Well, I really appreciate it. Get home safe,” she said as she opened her arms for a hug. Jon hugged her and she could smell him for just an instant, cool and fresh against the warm night air. He released her before she could fully take him in and turned in the direction of his car, shouting goodnight.

She stumbled upstairs into her messy apartment and fell face first into bed. The tequila and the exhaustion quickly overcame her. As she fell asleep, she thought about the day. She didn’t know if she was a stupid, spoiled girl or just someone who’d made a mistake. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever known for certain, but Jon’s reassurance was a comfort either way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon confronts his past and thinks about his future.
> 
> Amy = Ygritte, except I knew if I tried to type 'Ygritte' a hundred times I would have made as many typos.

Jon got home from Brooklyn and immediately showered--he smelled like dog and sweat. He collapsed into bed and began to scroll through the emails he’d been ignoring for the past few hours hours. 

He scrolled through mundane work stuff but one email gave him a small heart attack. It was from his ex-girlfriend Amy. It was a quick, casual note saying that she’d be in the city that week for work and wanted to see if he could grab coffee.

Jon was shocked. He’d met Amy freshman year and they started dating sophomore year of college. They’d lived together in New York after graduation. When she got a job in Chicago, they even survived a year of long distance. She had nearly convinced him to move to Chicago when Ned Stark suddenly died. After that, he didn’t have the time for their nightly Skype calls or the desire to consider jobs in Chicago. After five years of dating, he ended things with little explanation. He wouldn’t take her calls or answer her texts. Out of sheer desperation, Amy flew to New York to try to see him. In one of Jon’s worst moments, he’d refused to see her. He had listened to her sob through the door until she eventually left for good. 

Jon had felt ashamed for years after the breakup. He knew Amy deserved far better than how he had treated her in the end. Jon still hadn’t dated anyone seriously since. As Arya pointed out, he would occasionally spend a few months hooking up with some girl he had zero interest in actually being with. 

Guilt tugged at Jon’s heart. He had hurt Amy. He hurt someone who had done nothing but love and care for him. It bothered him even now. He knew that Amy had moved on. Even a quick scan of her Facebook page showed that she was clearly in love with her new husband, who was a professional hockey player turned successful trader. Amy had clearly moved on, but had Jon? 

Jon typed out a quick reply before tossing his phone onto his nightstand and trying to get some sleep.

A few days later Jon sat in a trendy coffee shop, sweating despite the arctic temperature in the shop. He checked his phone, played with the napkin dispenser, and color coordinated the sugar packets in an attempt to take his mind off of his nerves. He briefly contemplated going into the bathroom to splash water on his face when the door swung open and a petite redhead walked in. Despite all of his guilt and anxiety, he still couldn’t help but be taken back by how beautiful she was, and that he still felt a spark of happiness to see her. 

She was dressed professionally and had her hair pulled back loosely. A smile broke out across her face as she walked to the table. Jon stood up, bumping the table and scattering his neatly arranged sugar packets. He tried to both steady the table and hug her at the same time. Once things were sufficiently awkward, he gestured for her to sit. 

“Wow, you look great, it’s great to see you, how are you?” he asked. 

“I’m doing really well! I forgot how hot it gets in the city!” she said as she settled down into the seat. 

“Yeah. It’s hot. Outside. It’s hot outside. Hotter than it was yesterday. It’s cold in here though. Do you want a coffee, or a tea? I think they have both,” Jon said, stumbling over his words. 

“Sure, I’ll have an iced coffee with milk,” she said, reaching into her bag for her wallet.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, I got it,” he said as he walked up to the counter. I broke your heart, the least I can do is buy you a coffee, he thought. He ordered two iced coffees and a fancy pastry and brought them back to the table. 

“I got this cinnamon crumble thing. Is that okay? I can get something else,” he said, placing down the food and drinks. 

“It looks great,” she said as he sat down. “How have you been?” she asked as she tore open a sugar. She had already put the packets neatly back in the container. 

“Good, busy. Busy with work mostly,” he said. He stabbed his coffee with a straw, spilling coffee on the top of the lid in the process.

“Are you still with the same firm?” she asked. He nodded. 

“Five years now,” he said as he mopped up the brown liquid. 

“That’s great. Sounds like it’s a good fit,” Amy said.

“Yeah, it’s great. How about you? How’s work?” Jon asked.

“Good, busy, but I really like it.” Amy said.

“And you’re married now! How’s that going?” he asked.

“It’s good, really good. He’s a great guy. I’m really lucky,” she said smiling.

“That’s great Ames. I’m glad. You deserve to be happy,” he said. His voice felt high and tense in his throat. He hoped it didn’t make him sound insincere, because he truly meant it.

“I am. I really am,” she said. Jon didn’t doubt it. She had a calm, peaceful energy to her, more so than he’d ever remembered during the time they dated.

There was a pause. They had exhausted small talk. They would now have to have a real conversation. 

“So, did you guys have a big wedding?” Jon asked as he sipped his coffee.

“Big? I mean, come on, you know my family. Every Polish person for five hundred miles was there,” she said laughing.

“Oh man, what about your Uncle? Did he get everyone to do the conga line like he did at your cousin’s wedding?” Jon asked, smiling at the memory.

“Oh my God, of course he did! But only after he gave a speech and made sure to mention the time I puked out of the car window --”

“On the way to your brother’s hockey tournament? Amy, I heard that story ten times while we were dating. Your family loves that story. You will never have a single event of your entire life where they don’t tell that story,” Jon laughed. 

The tension was broken and they easily began to laugh and reminisce. Amy pulled out her phone and they flipped through wedding pictures, gossiping over her family members. Jon noticed who had gotten taller, who had gotten pregnant, and who hadn’t changed a bit. He asked about Amy’s nieces and nephews. Jon remembered when her first nephew was born, and she now proudly showed pictures of him on his first day of fourth grade. He said that her husband also had a nephew about the same age and the two boys were already friends. He’d once shared so much of Amy’s life, and she now had a whole new one that he knew nothing about. He wondered if he had ended things differently, they might have still been able to be friends. The thought made him sad.

They had been talking so long they eventually ordered sandwiches and another cinnamon crumble. 

Jon stirred the remainder of his ice with the straw. He wondered why she had asked to see him. For as happy as she clearly was, he wondered if there wasn’t still some part of her that needed something from him. An explanation that she never got. An apology that she was long overdue. 

“Amy. It’s obvious you’ve clearly moved on, and you’re doing really well, but I also really need to apologize to you. I’m sorry. I was a dick. You did nothing wrong and you deserved better. I was just such a mess at the time...when Ned died...I lost it,” he said, around the lump that was forming in his throat.

“I know,” she said quietly. 

“But that’s not an excuse. There’s no excuse. And I don’t think anything I ever say or do will make it right but I do want you to know that I’m sorry,” he said, unable to make eye contact with her. 

When he finally looked up he saw that she was dabbing her eyes with a napkin. He felt torn between the urge to hug her and run from the coffee shop as fast as he possibly could. He settled for sitting quietly. 

It took her a moment before she could speak again. 

“Thank you for saying that. I appreciate it,” she said, still dabbing her eyes.

“It’s years overdue,” he admitted. He reached over and took her hand. “I’m sorry, I should have called, emailed, fucking sent a telegram, a hundred different times. It just never seemed like it would have been enough,” he said.

“It would have been something,” she said, a trace of frustration in her voice. 

“I know,” he admitted. 

“I mean, I know Ned was like a father to you,” she said. Her voice was even but her hand was shaking.

“If it makes you feel any better I just didn’t understand what was happening to me at the time. I’d never lost anyone before,” he said, squeezing her hand.

“I know that too. Or rather, I know that now. It took me a long time to understand that,” she said, sighing deeply. 

“You wouldn’t have wanted to date me at the time. I spent the next year getting drunk, crying, and shooting things with Robb,” Jon said, trying to lighten the mood. She let let a small smile cross her face. 

“Anyway,” she said, trying to pull herself together. “And how is the magnificent mister Stark?” she asked, referring to her college nickname for Robb. 

“He’s really good actually, he’ll be getting married soon. God, in less than two weeks. It’s coming up so quickly,” he said. 

“Yeah, weddings do that,” she said. Their conversation turned to the much more emotionally manageable topic of wedding details. Jon told Amy all about Jeyne and the upcoming events. She wasn’t surprised to learn of Jeyne’s family background or the scale and grandeur of the wedding.

Amy broke the last of the pastry in half. 

“So,” she said, pausing to take a bite. “Are you bringing anyone to the wedding? Are you dating anyone?”

“What? Oh come on, you don’t want to hear about that,” Jon said, leaning back in his chair.

“Come on, I just told you my husband’s entire family tree, you can tell me if you’re dating someone special or not,” she insisted.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “No, I’m not dating anyone, and I’m definitely not bringing a date.” 

“What! Why not?” she said, giving him a skeptical look.

“Well, to be honest, I haven’t dated anyone seriously since we broke up,” he said. He couldn’t help but think she looked satisfied with his confession.

“Why not?” she asked, finishing the last of the crumble.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve dated a few girls for a month or two but it doesn’t seem to work out.”

Amy nodded. The cafe had emptied out from a rush and it was just the two of them.

“Is that because you’re still in love with Sansa Stark?” she asked the question casually, as though she hadn’t just hit him in the face with a brick.

“What do you mean?” he said, trying to stay calm.

“I mean, does it not work out with these girls because you’re still in love with Sansa Stark?” she said, wiping the crumbs off the table.

“Why do you think I’m in love with Sansa?” he said, blood rushing to his face.

She gave him a look as though she pitied him. It made him angrier than he already was.

“Jon, stop. I knew you for six years. They way you talked about her. Or rather, the way you talked about her in front of Robb in comparison to the way you talked about her in front of me. I knew,” she said.

“I...Look, Amy, did I have a childhood crush on her? Sure, but do I love her? No,” he said. He didn’t know why she was bringing this up out of nowhere.

She sighed. “Okay okay. Nevermind. What else is new?”

Jon was relieved to change the subject. “You won’t believe this, Arya’s dating a girl. I guess they met in her teaching program.”

Amy didn’t look surprised. “Duh.”

“What? You knew that too? Shit, I mean you knew that?” Jon asked, irritated with his slip up.

She gave him a look. “Jon I played hockey for years. Arya’s definitely gay,” she said, as though playing hockey made her an expert on lesbians. 

“I’ve known her for her entire life and I didn’t know that,” he said, just for the sake of arguing.

“There’s a lot you aren’t willing to see. We all have our blind spots when it comes to the people we love,” she said, clearly referring to her early comments.

“You know, even if you were right, and I did have feelings for Sansa, there’s nothing I could do about it,” he said stubbornly. 

“Why, is she seeing someone?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted.

“Why not then?” she said, genuinely curious.

Jon paused. What was the answer to that question. What was it that was stopping him from pulling Sansa into his arms, and telling her that he loved her?

“Robb would kill me,” he said. 

“Why, would you hurt her? Cheat on her?” she asked. Jon was offended by the suggestion.

“Never,” he stated.

“Then why does Robb get to decide?” Jon knew that as much as she’d gotten along with Robb for his sake, Amy had always held a grudge against him. She’d vented to Jon several times that the Stark was an elitist. Jon suspected this had less to do with Sansa and more of her resentment towards Robb.

“What, I’m just supposed to tell my best friend that I want to date his sister?” Jon responded.

“Why not? Isn’t it Sansa’s decision, not his?” she asked. Now she was just being ridiculous.

“It’s...Amy, the situation is complicated, okay? Their Dad practically raised me. And besides, why do you care?” It was baffling that she was pushing her ex to be with someone. 

“If I lost you because of her, you should at least be with her,” she said, and it suddenly fell into place why she was pushing this. Jon’s body filled with guilt for the hundredth time that day. Did Amy really feel that way?

“You didn’t lose me because of her, or anyone else. You lost me because I was a stupid kid who didn’t know how to handle my life at the time,” he reassured her.

“Well, that too,” she said. She reached into her bag to check her phone.

“I really should get going,” she said. 

They’d had such a great conversation, Jon hated to end on such a bad note. 

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yeah, but I had a lot of fun talking to you,” she said. They stood and Amy began to gather her purse.

“Me too, I’m glad we met up,” he said. They walked to the front of the shop. Jon opened the door for Amy and they were hit by a wave of warm air. 

They stood outside for a few minutes, chatting about Amy’s flight back to Chicago. 

They eventually hugged. The awkwardness had faded, and the hug felt comfortable and familiar, like he was just hugging an old friend. It surprised him then when he went to pull away and she suddenly grabbed his arm. 

“You deserve to be happy too, you know that right?” she said softly. 

“I think so,” he tried to laugh. 

They parted and she squeezed his arm one last time before turning to walk down the street. 

Jon watched her before he turned and walked in the opposite direction towards his office. 

He thought about Amy. The gorgeous, funny girl that he’d lost. He thought about what she said about why he lost her.

Jon decided that it was time to talk to Robb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tough one! I didn't think their meeting would end up being an entire chapter. It's also really talky so I'm not sure how I feel about it. But I hope you like it!
> 
> I think we're about two chapters away from meeting back up with Pout Off so there's that to look forward to!
> 
> Also....
> 
> I've decided...
> 
> On a cameo....
> 
> from THEON GREYJOY!!!!


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